


(wanna know) if love is wild

by Springsteen



Series: racing in the street [2]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mechanics, M/M, Miscommunication, Semi-Public Sex, Street Racing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 11:09:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17579723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Springsteen/pseuds/Springsteen
Summary: “We should race sometime,” the guy says, running his hand along JT’s Camaro’s fender. “Bet this thing is pretty fast, for a classic.”JT should say he’s right, that it was fast when it was new, but now he has no chance - not without a supercharger and a new suspension and a whole lot of other shit that’ll wreck his engine just as fast as it’ll win a race. He should say there’s no way he’d risk his baby and his license for something as stupid as street racing. There are a lot of things he should say, but this guy is standing in his shop with a beautiful, impossible, cocky grin on his face. JT licks his lips and doesn’t miss the way this guy watches him do it.JT works as a mechanic. He likes his job but it's not very exciting, until one night when a guy walks into the shop with a check engine light and a smile that's impossible to forget.





	(wanna know) if love is wild

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, I have to thank a.j. and Riley for listening to me complain about writing this and claim to be finished every thousand words. your cheerleading & beta reading is much appreciated, and this fic wouldn't be what it is without your help.
> 
> This is one of the most self-indulgent things I've ever written, and it's as much about my love of cars, driving, and bruce springsteen's discography as it is about the characters - people whose names and ridiculous heart eyes for each other I've stolen to write this fic (obviously all of this is fiction and everything including this version of Denver is only loosely based in reality).
> 
> The title is from bruce springsteen's "born to run," one of the greatest driving songs of all time. My working title was "the i'm on fire [video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lrpXArn3hII)" which, while cringe-y and '80s, was also hugely influential here. But wait, there's more: I made a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0OGsT71pZvqQB5UkD0Z7WA) for this entire au. there aren't any lyrics stuck in the middle of this fic, but it is kind of a songfic in spirit.

_love me tonight and I promise I’ll love you forever_ \- “4th of july, asbury park” bruce springsteen  
_be still my foolish heart, don’t ruin this on me_ \- “almost (sweet music)” hozier

][ ][ ][ 

Strictly speaking, JT isn’t supposed to work on his Camaro while he’s on the clock. It makes sense - he’s getting paid to fix other people’s cars, not his own - but Barbs lets him work on it anyway as long as he doesn’t have anything else to do. JT is finally almost done with it - or, at least, the car runs now. 

It feels like such an accomplishment, getting it to actually run, considering the car was mostly rust and dented sheet metal when he’d first bought it. Somebody found it falling apart in their uncle’s dusty garage a couple hours away and they just wanted to get rid of it, not caring about the potential the car had. By now he’s managed to rebuild most of the engine, but he still needs to go through and replace all the lines in the car. 50 year old rubber isn’t exactly reliable, and he doesn’t want to take the chance of having his car die on the side of the road every time he drives it.

JT is underneath his car replacing the oil cooler lines when he notices movement out of the corner of his eye. He squints, looking out at the shop to see somebody in a pair of Nikes walk across the floor, stopping near where JT’s legs stick out from under the edge of the car. It has to be around 9 o’clock at night by now; the shop has been closed for hours. Leaving the garage door open was probably a mistake, but it’s a nice night and he wanted to let in the fresh air. He never really considered the possibility that someone would just wander in.

“We’re closed,” he says, hoping his voice isn’t too muffled by the underside of his car.

“My check engine light is on,” the guy says.

“We’re closed,” JT repeats, hoping his eye roll comes across in his voice. “And customers aren’t supposed to be in the shop.”

“Well, the office door is locked,” Nikes says. JT sighs. He really doesn’t want to repeat himself a third time. “You’re still here, you’re obviously a mechanic, can’t you just look at it?”

Part of JT wants to argue that him being under a car doesn’t necessarily make him a mechanic but he decides against it. Whoever this guy is, he’s obviously got guts to wander into a random auto shop at night. He’s a little curious, but not curious enough to actually get out from under his car and talk to him. Besides, a check engine light could mean anything, and it’s something this guy could get checked out at an AutoZone or a dealer or literally anywhere that isn’t here.

“I don’t wanna drive it like this,” the guy says. 

“So it just died in the parking lot, huh?” Barberio Motors is at the far end of an industrial parkway, the street lined with distribution centers and run-down offices. It’s not the kind of place you just happened to find.

“No, but I saw the lights on here and I figured I’d check,” he says. 

JT finally rolls out from under his car, ready to tell this guy to go home and take his car to a dealership in the morning, but he stops short. The guy looking down at him is hot. Really, really hot. He’s looking at JT with a crooked, hopeful smile and big brown eyes that JT already knows are gonna get him in trouble. There’s no way JT is gonna say no to him now, even if the guy is kind of a jerk for assuming JT would help him when the shop is clearly closed. JT doesn’t care if this guy’s car overheated and he cracked the head gasket and needed a new radiator. He would do just about anything to see more of this guy. He’s too busy staring at him to notice the shockingly blue Porsche parked right in front of the open garage door. 

“Shouldn’t you take that to the dealer?” JT asks when he finally sees the car. “That’s gotta be under warranty.”

The guy shrugs. “I drive a lot,” he says. 

JT doubts this kid has put 50,000 miles on a car that can’t be more than three years old, but he stands up to get the code reader anyway. They’re not really supposed to have the software to read Porsche engine codes, but they worked on enough older Porsches at the shop to make it worth it. He opens the driver’s side door and plugs in the code reader. The code that comes back is for engine intake, which doesn’t really narrow down what the problem is. JT pops the hood to look at the engine.

“God, I hate working on these,” he mutters. 

“What?” the guy says, looking over his shoulder. He’s blocking a lot of the light coming from the garage, but JT doesn’t mind. He can feel warmth along his back and a light touch at his shoulder. “Why?”

“The engine compartment is tiny,” JT says, pointing at it. “You gotta take the engine out to work on it, it’s a huge amount of work for anything more complicated than an oil change.”

The guy stares blankly. Obviously he likes to drive nice cars but has no idea how to maintain them beyond taking it to a mechanic. 

“Does it run at all?” JT asks. “I can’t see anything out here to even tell you what’s wrong with it.”

“I mean, it runs but it feels weird,” the guy says. “Wait, are you saying you can’t fix it?”

“Not in the parking lot in the dark,” JT says. He closes the hood and rubs his hand across his forehead, remembering too late that his hands are covered in grease and now so is his face. “Pull it into the shop, I’ll take a look.”

“Thank you,” the guy says, getting in the car. “Seriously, thank you so much, dude, really appreciate it.” As far as JT can tell, the car starts normally and it doesn’t sound like anything is seriously wrong. He helps the guy pull straight into the garage before looking up the engine code online. Apparently the cause of the problem is a leak in the vacuum lines. With a car this new they shouldn’t be cracked or broken yet. Hopefully it’ll be a quick fix and JT can still finish changing the lines on his Camaro and get home by a normal time.

Under the bright shop lights, the problem is obvious, even in the tiny engine compartment: one of the lines had popped off. He pushes it back into place easily, making sure the connection is secure. “You street racing this thing or something?” he asks. He looks over his shoulder to see the guy grinning.

“Come on, don’t tell me you wouldn’t race a car like this,” he says. “It’s what they’re made for.”

JT makes a face. “A car like this should see redline a couple times a week, yeah,” he says. “But not every time you drive the car, and never when the engine’s cold. Not unless you want to do a total engine rebuild in a year or two.”

“You’re no fun,” the guy says. His grin has turned into a smirk, and there’s something challenging to it, like he wants to prove JT wrong.

“Yeah, you’re right,” JT says, wiping his hands on his already oil-stained jeans. “Keeping a car running like it should makes me a total stick in the mud.” He closes the hood, checking that he’s properly cleared out the engine code before taking a couple steps back. “You’re all set.”

“Thanks,” he says. “How much do I owe you?”

JT shakes his head. The whole thing has taken maybe ten minutes, fifteen max. The computers in the office are shut down for the night, and asking for cash for this makes him feel weirdly skeevy. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, looking for the socket he needs to finish the oil lines on his car. 

“You sure?” he asks. JT turns around. The guy’s still standing there, watching JT sort through wrenches on top of a tool box.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” JT says. “Have a good night.” JT gets on his knees, about to get back under his car to finish the job, when he realizes the guy isn’t leaving.

“We should race sometime,” the guy says, running his hand along JT’s Camaro’s fender. “Bet this thing is pretty fast, for a classic.”

JT should say he’s right, that it was fast when it was new, but now he has no chance - not without a supercharger and a new suspension and a whole lot of other shit that’ll wreck his engine just as fast as it’ll win a race. He should say there’s no way he’d risk his baby and his license for something as stupid as street racing. There are a lot of things he should say, but this guy is standing in his shop with a beautiful, impossible, cocky grin on his face. JT licks his lips and doesn’t miss the way this guy watches him do it.

“Yeah, it’s not bad,” JT says. “We’ll see.”

He smiles again. JT has known this guy maybe half an hour, but something in his chest aches when he sees that smile. “What’s your name, dude? I’m Tyson.”

“JT.” He shakes Tyson’s hand, very aware of how dirty his hands are, of the grease in caked his knuckles and under his nails. 

“What is this thing, anyway?” Tyson asks, turning to look at JT’s car.

“A ‘69 Chevy Camaro,” he says.

“69, eh? Nice.” Tyson smirks, raising his eyebrows. He should look stupid but he doesn’t. He takes a step closer, forcing JT to look up at him from where he’s still kneeling on the floor. “I like it. It’s sexy.”

“Thanks,” JT says faintly. Tyson reaches out, and before JT does something monumentally stupid like hook up with a sort-of customer in the middle of the shop, he rolls himself under his car and away from the conversation. He squeezes his eyes shut tight, until starbursts flicker inside his eyelids. When he reopens his eyes the underside of his car is exactly as he’d left it twenty minutes ago. He doesn’t check to see if Tyson is still there. 

The shop is quiet, the buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead and faint music from the radio the only noise in the space. JT picks up the ratchet and gets back to work. 

“Thanks for the help,” Tyson says eventually. “Have a good night, man.” 

JT keeps working as Tyson starts his car, echoing loudly inside the shop. He listens to him pull out of the shop and waits until he’s sure Tyson is long gone before rolling himself back out. He rests his elbows on his knees, staring out at the empty parking lot. Tyson probably thinks he’s a giant idiot, but it’s not like he’s gonna see him again. Pretty much all their clients are repeat customers who’ve been coming here for years and referrals from a couple local dealers. Sad as it is, this is the most exciting thing that’s happened to him in weeks. He’s not dumb enough to expect it to happen again.

He goes back to working on his car. A couple more weeks and he should be ready to drive it every day, so JT has that to look forward to, except all he can think about is Tyson’s grin and the hazy idea of a street race. For the first time since he was a reckless teenager, JT actually considers taking someone up on that challenge.

][ ][ ][

Over the next few days, JT forces himself to get caught up in work. It’s not exciting, really, replacing brake pads and balancing tires and all that, but he’s always liked working with his hands and seeing his accomplishments take shape over a few hours. He and Barbs work well together, and after a year and a half of working here he’s mostly gotten used to the combination of country and old R&B Barbs always wants to listen to. 

JT’s standing in front of a fan, summer still lingering in terribly hot days near the end of September, when a familiar blue Porsche pulls into the shop. His heart pounds even as he tells himself it could be anybody’s. Miami Blue is a popular color and there are tons of rich assholes in this city who drive new Porsches. Then the driver gets out of the car, and there’s no mistaking those messy brown curls.

“Hey man,” Tyson calls to Barbs, who’s walking up to greet him. “Thanks again, I’m glad you could get me in on such short notice.” 

JT hopes he doesn’t look like a total creep, watching from his spot in the back by the fan. From across the shop Tyson’s smile is still overwhelming, even though he’s focused right on Barbs. Barbs smiles back at him. Tyson drags his fingers over Barbs’ palm as he hands over his keys.

There’s something easy and familiar to their conversation. JT wonders how Tyson managed to find this shop, that first night he stopped in here. It seems like he and Barbs already know each other somehow, like they might be friends. Tyson bites his lip and looks up at Barbs. Maybe they’re more than friends, though it doesn’t look like Barbs really notices what Tyson’s doing. 

“No problem,” Barbs says, smiling brightly as he twists one of the shop’s tags onto Tyson’s keyring. “We should have it ready for you tomorrow - you weren’t planning on waiting, were you?”

“Nah,” Tyson says. “Kerf should be here in a minute, we’ve got a lunch date.”

Abruptly, JT realizes he’s been standing in front of the fan wiping his hands off for the past five minutes. He goes back to the ancient Volkswagen he’s been working on, making his way through the pieces of the gearbox lying on the floor so he could replace the clutch. 

“Cool,” Barbs says. “We’ll give you a call when it’s all set.”

“Thanks again, man,” Tyson says.

JT looks up, feeling like he’s being watched, and sees Tyson looking at him. Tyson waves when he sees JT look up, and it’s dorky and sweet and somehow charming. Tyson starts picking his way across the shop floor - JT should tell him to stop. Technically he’s a liability and definitely he’s a distraction, but he only takes a few steps in JT’s direction when a sparkling white Tesla zips into the parking lot.

Both of them turn to look at the guy leaning out of the driver’s side window. All JT really notices is his messy hair and big nose before Tyson says “See ya around,” just loud enough for JT to hear. He leaves the shop and gets in the Tesla, ruffling the driver’s hair before the car pulls out again.

“What kind of a dumb name is Kerf, anyway” JT mutters to himself, trying not to think about Tyson’s lunch date as he turns back to the VW. Barbs either doesn’t hear him or pretends not to. He claps JT’s shoulder as he goes to hang Tyson’s keys on the peg board right outside the office.

“He’s pretty cute,” Barbs says.

“What?” JT says, looking across the shop at him. Barbs jerks his chin at Tyson’s Porsche and raises his eyebrows pointedly. “Um,” JT says slowly. He can feel his face heat up with a blush. “Yeah, I guess.”

Barbs rolls his eyes. “Your crush is really obvious, dude.” JT ducks behind the VW, trying to hide how much he’s blushing. Barbs sees right through him. 

“Pretty sure he likes you, too,” he says. “He asked about you.”

“He what?” JT stands up so fast he almost hits his head on the VW’s fender.

“When he called about getting his car in, he asked if you’d work on it,” Barbs says. He’s leaning against a workbench on the other side of the car where JT’s working. “He also said you already fixed his car the other day.”

“Yeah, uh, I did,” JT says. “It was no big deal, took like ten minutes.”

“Must’ve been an impressive ten minutes,” Barbs says. JT drops the wrench he was holding with a loud _clang_. Barbs laughs and picks it up for him. “I’ll let you get back to work,” he says. “Just figured you’d want to know about your new friend.”

“Yeah, thanks,” JT says. 

He takes the wrench back and tries to focus on anything that isn’t Tyson. It’s pretty impossible, and he spends the rest of the afternoon slowly putting the VW back together. He wonders what Tyson does, that he drives a new Porsche and has friends who drive Teslas. JT rolls his eyes a little at that. He can’t imagine ever being friends with someone who drives a Tesla.

JT is too busy to really see what Barbs is doing to Tyson’s car, but it looks like something pretty basic with the brakes. By the time he’s got the new clutch in the Volkswagen and has everything put back, it’s getting dark outside. He really should’ve learned his lesson about leaving the garage door open, but there’s a cool night breeze coming in tonight and it feels amazing after the stifling heat during the day. 

A car door slams in the parking lot. JT looks up to see Tyson standing next to the same Tesla, so white it practically glows in the twilight. It’s dark and he can’t really see through the windshield, but he’s pretty sure the driver is watching him. Tyson walks in the shop again, coming right up to JT instead of over to his Porsche. 

“Oh, hey,” Tyson says. JT doesn’t think he’s ever seen him not smiling. It’s really nice. “How’s it going?”

JT shrugs. “Not bad. Just finishing up for the day. Barbs is in the office, I think he’s got your car all set.” 

He really wants to ask if Tyson did ask Barbs about him, if he’s been thinking about JT at all since the night they met the way JT has been thinking about him. He keeps his cool instead and walks towards the office, trusting Tyson will follow. He holds the shop door open and Tyson brushes his shoulder as he walks past. There’s plenty of space, even with shelves of spare parts lining the walls, but Tyson still passes close enough that JT can smell some kind of cologne, can feel the warmth of his body. 

JT lets the door shut behind Tyson and goes back into the shop. The Tesla in the parking lot is still there, but JT mostly ignores it, puttering around and cleaning up until he hears the office door close again. Tyson’s back in the shop, and he walks right past his own car again to talk to JT.

“Thanks for fixing my car,” he says, stopping just out of JT’s reach. 

“I didn’t,” JT says. “Today, I mean.” Behind Tyson, JT notices Barbs watching the two of them interestedly. From the way he’s looking at JT, he’s sure his crush is written all over his face. He might need to find a new place to work, because Barbs is gonna chirp him for the rest of his life. 

“Well, still,” Tyson says. “Thanks again for the other day.” 

“Sure, no problem,” JT says.

“So, if you didn’t fix my car then what were you doing all day?” Tyson’s definitely teasing him.

JT shrugs. “Spent most of the day taking that old Jetta apart to replace the clutch. Pulled out the gearbox, cleaned the whole thing out, standard stuff. Just finished putting it all back together not too long ago.” From the way Tyson is staring at him, he’s pretty sure if he said all that in Japanese Tyson would’ve understood about the same amount. 

“Wow,” Tyson says quietly, leaning closer to JT. “Sounds complicated.”

“It’s not too bad. I could show you sometime,” JT suggests, even though he’s pretty sure what Tyson’s answer to that will be.

Tyson laughs. “Thanks, man, but I would be a terrible mechanic.” He bites his lip and looks down. “Are you busy Friday night?” he asks, looking back up at him. 

Tyson puts one hand up and leans against the lift. He’s clearly trying really hard to look smooth, but JT is so fucked already because all he can think is how cute his dumb smirk is and how good his arms look in the t-shirt he’s wearing.

“I don’t think so,” JT says slowly. 

Tyson’s grin becomes impossibly brighter. “Well, I’m having a party at my place. It’s gonna be pretty cool. You should come.” 

“I…” JT doesn’t know what to say. He’s never been invited to a party by a customer before. Something tells him it’s not just a bunch of his friends hanging out in a shitty apartment, but he doesn’t want to end up stuck at a party where he doesn’t know anyone, either. “Maybe, yeah.”

“I’ll text you,” Tyson says, pointing at him as he goes over to where Barbs just parked his car outside the shop. 

“Sure, sounds good,” JT says.

“Have a good night!” Tyson yells before he gets in his car and drives away. 

][ ][ ][

Somehow, Tyson must have charmed JT’s number out of Barbs, because when he checks his phone after work that night there’s a text from an unknown number that’s just an address in the suburbs and a bunch of emojis. JT never texts him back, but he leaves work early on Friday anyways, checking in with Barbs on his way out of the shop.

“Have fun,” Barbs says, barely looking up at him from under the hood of a Mercedes. “Careful with my car.”

“Obviously,” JT says. He’s been borrowing Barbs’ BMW for most of the summer. It works out well for both of them, since he’s not done with his Camaro yet and Barbs has been driving his Triumph while the weather’s nice. The BMW is a different kind of cool from his Camaro, tinted windows and dark metallic paint and and engine that purrs. Plus it’s _fast_ , the throttle responsive in a way that doesn’t exist in cars from the ‘60s. 

He goes home, showers, and changes into the jeans he usually wears on dates. He stands in front of the mirror for a while trying to decide if he should try to do something with his hair. No matter what he tries it always ends up looking the same, red as ever and sticking up in the front. All he ends up doing is wasting time, so by the time he gets to the address Tyson texted him he has to park halfway down the block.

As he walks back to the address Tyson sent him, he recognizes a few of the cars parked along the street. There’s the black Aston he’s seen in the shop once or twice, and then there’s a Maserati he’s seen driving around before. The whole street is cars straight from posters and mid-life crises. Again he wonders who the hell Tyson is, who all his friends are, as he walks up the driveway. He passes a couple guys talking out on the porch and goes inside. 

He looks around - there’s a ton of people here, and he’s thinking about grabbing a drink, doing a lap to see if he can find Tyson, and getting out of here, when he sees the Tesla guy just down the hall. He’s the only person here JT even kind of recognizes, so JT figures he might as well say hey.

“Uh, Kerf, right?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” Kerf says. “Alexander Kerfoot, I live here. ‘Sup?”

“Oh,” JT says. It makes sense that Tyson doesn’t live in this giant house alone, that he shares it with someone. He’s not wearing a ring or anything, but they’ve gotta be pretty close if they live together. “Is… Do you know where Tyson is?”

Kerf grins at him in a way that makes him feel like he’s missing out on a joke. “He’s in there,” Kerf says, pointing in the living room. “Might be dancing.” 

“Thanks,” JT says. Kerf salutes him with his drink as JT goes into the living room. Nobody’s dancing, and it’s pretty easy to pick out Tyson, squashed on a couch between two giant blond guys. One of them has their arms around Tyson’s shoulders and both of them are looking at Tyson, who’s clearly in the middle of a story. He jumps up when he sees JT.

“JT! You made it!” Tyson shouts, pushing through people to get across the room.

“Yeah, I’m here,” JT says. “This isn’t what I expected.”

Tyson grins, throwing his arm around JT’s shoulders. “Wasn’t expecting me to be so popular?” JT shakes his head and ducks closer to Tyson so he can hear him over the music. “Drinks are in the kitchen, you want one?”

Tyson starts pulling him through the house before he can answer, waving at people as they pass. It’s pretty much every other house party JT has been to, crowded and warm, with music too loud for conversations. The kitchen is a little quieter, but they still have to get past people to reach the counter. Tyson opens the fridge and grabs a couple beers, opening them both before passing one to JT. 

He grabs JT’s hand with a sly grin and tugs, pulling him across the kitchen and out a side door into the garage. 

“Thanks, man, but I already spend way too much time in a garage,” JT says. Like the rest of the house, the garage is huge, with space for at least 3 cars. Fluorescent lights reflect on Tyson’s electric blue 911 and the spotless white Tesla next to it. 

“I just wanted to get outside,” Tyson says. “It’s way too crowded in there.” He makes his way past the cars to a side door, still pulling JT along by the hand.

“Trying to escape a party at your own house?” JT asks.

“Technically it’s Kerf’s place,” Tyson says. JT glances at the Tesla. “Yeah, that’s his car,” Tyson says, straightening a bunch of hockey sticks leaning against the wall. “I mean, I live here too, but it is Kerf’s house. He’s kind of a nerd. Obviously.” Tyson looks at the Tesla and rolls his eyes. “But he’s my best friend, he’s really great. He picked me up the other day, when you fixed my car.” 

The ugly, jealous tension knotted in JT’s stomach relaxes when he hears Kerf is Tyson’s best friend and not something more. He still doesn’t know if Tyson is single, let alone if he’s actually into JT, but he hasn’t left his side since JT got here and they’re still holding hands. He’s feeling pretty hopeful.

“You didn’t bring me out here to fix your car again, did you?” he asks, teasing. They’re still in the garage, even though Tyson is standing right next to the door. 

“No,” Tyson says with a little laugh. “I…” He looks JT up and down, slow and obviously enough that JT feels himself blush. “I wanted to get to know you better. You seem like a pretty cool guy.”

“Cooler than you, for sure,” JT says. He’s pretty sure Tyson is flirting with him. He wants Tyson to flirt with him, even if his immediate, instinctive response is sarcasm. Tyson shakes his head and opens the door. 

They end up out on the front porch talking to a vaguely familiar-looking guy whose name is Nate and who works at a dealership. JT finishes his drink pretty fast, and Tyson goes back to the kitchen to get them another round. He leaves JT with Nate and not much to talk about.

“So,” Nate says. “You fix cars?”

“Yep,” JT says. “You sell them?”

“Yeah,” Nate says, nodding.

“Huh,” JT says. “You don’t look like a sleazy used car salesman.”

Nate laughs. “I’m not, I swear I’m not. It’s just a job, really. The best part is that my best friend works there, too, so I get paid to hang out with him all the time.”

“That sounds pretty cool,” JT says. Tyson comes back out the front door and passes JT another beer, standing right next to him even though there’s plenty of room on the porch. JT leans back against the porch railing. After a minute, Tyson rests his hand on the railing, his fingers just brushing JT’s hip.

“Did he tell you about the Lambo?” Tyson asks, nudging JT. “Dude, Nate, you gotta tell him about the Lambo guy.” 

Nate shrugs and starts telling them about the brand-new Aventador that just came in to the dealer where he works. JT is only half-listening, too focused on Tyson’s fingers slowly tracing random shapes low on JT’s back. Just when JT realizes he might actually be drawing letters and spelling something, a dark red Ferrari rolls into the driveway. All three of them watch - it’s a car that’s impossible to ignore, sharp curves and dark metallic paint demanding attention, but only if you can catch up. 

Some guy gets out of the car and stomps up the porch. “Nice Ferrari,” the guy says to Tyson. JT frowns. He doesn’t know Tyson all that well, but he can’t see him owning a car like that. It’s too sleek, too sophisticated. He suspects if Tyson did own a Ferrari it would be bright yellow, and that everyone he met would know about it. “Where’d you get it?” the guy asks.

Tyson looks over at the garage door, slowly rolling up so someone can park the Ferrari inside. “It’s Landeskog’s,” Tyson says. “I saw you guys get back, you didn’t know it was his?”

The guy turns and glares at the garage as the door rolls back down. “No, I didn’t know that,” he says. He looks at Nate. “You ready to go?” he asks.

Nate shrugs. “Sure,” he says. “Have a good night, guys.” The two of them leave JT and Tyson on the porch, the muted noise of the party disrupting the quiet night. JT’s beer is almost empty, but he doesn’t want to go back inside to get another. He can feel Tyson looking at him; when he glances over, Tyson doesn’t look away. One of them should say something. It’s not going to be JT - he never knows what to say, especially in moments like this, teetering on the edge of… something. He finishes his beer and shifts closer to Tyson, close enough their sides are almost touching. 

“You know,” Tyson says slowly, “The night we met, when you wouldn’t let me pay you, I almost offered to blow you instead.” JT’s glad he finished his beer, otherwise he would probably be choking on it. He feels like his brain is melting, like he must’ve misunderstood something, but Tyson is still right there, looking up at him and biting his lip. He grins.

JT sucks in a breath, his mind reeling. He was the one on his knees that night (he spends so much time on the floor, under cars, that he usually doesn’t even think about it) but now he’s picturing Tyson on his knees in front of him, JT’s back against Tyson’s shockingly blue car. If he had offered, JT wouldn’t have said no.

“I…” JT starts.

“I mean, I really appreciate it,” Tyson continues, laughing a little. “I love that car. Totally panicked when the check engine light came on. You get it, right? Did you bring your car tonight?”

“No,” JT says. “I mean yes, I get it.” Of course it’s a stupid exaggeration, just about how much Tyson loves his car, and he thinks JT would think the same way. “My car’s still at the shop, though, I’ve been driving my friend’s BMW ‘til I’m done with my Camaro.”

“Nice,” Tyson says, nodding. “Where is it?”

JT points. “Like halfway to the corner.” Tyson licks his lips. JT watches him, feels it like an electric shock. “You wanna see it?” JT asks. He wants to say, _let’s get out of here_ , but from the way Tyson smiles at him he’s pretty sure he understands. 

“Hell yeah,” Tyson says, jumping down the porch steps. JT throws his arm around Tyson’s shoulders as they walk down the street, listening as Tyson points out other people’s cars and promises to make introductions.

The car that was parked in front of JT is gone, his car sitting alone in front of someone’s yard. There are no streetlights, just the moonlight and the distant glow of lights in the window of Tyson’s house. 

“This is it,” JT says, though it’s obvious - it’s the only BMW on the street, and the next closest car is back towards Tyson’s house. 

“Badass,” Tyson says, drawing the word out as he walks around the car. “M3, nice, this thing’s gotta be pretty fast.” 

“Yeah,” he agrees. JT catches up with Tyson on the passenger side. He doesn’t want to spend another second talking about cars. Tyson has been pretty obviously checking him out all night, and JT feels like an idiot for not doing something about it earlier. He puts one hand on the car, blocking Tyson’s path, leans in and kisses him. 

Tyson grabs him by the hips and drags him closer. JT keeps his balance with his hand on the car, his other hand slipping through Tyson’s hair. Tyson arches closer, the kiss quickly turning filthy.

“Fucking finally,” Tyson says when JT breaks away to breathe. “My offer’s still on the table, by the way.” JT stares, uncomprehending, until Tyson pokes his tongue in his cheek obscenely. JT fumbles through his pockets for the car keys and by the time he unlocks the car, Tyson has grabbed JT’s shirt with one hand and the door handle with the other, dragging him into the backseat.

This is, for a lot of reasons, a terrible idea. It’s also the best goddamn thing JT can imagine. Both of them are too tall to fit comfortably in the backseat, and no matter what happens he’s definitely going to have to detail the car before he gives it back to Barbs. Even if the windows are darkly tinted, they’re still parked on a suburban side street, but right now, JT isn’t thinking about any of that. He doesn’t care, not when Tyson is slowly planting kisses down JT’s throat and pushing his hands up under JT’s shirt. 

JT sits up and lets Tyson pull his shirt off, sighing as Tyson keeps kissing down his chest. He reaches out to grab the hem of Tyson’s shirt but Tyson pushes him back against the door, his expression wicked. He yanks own his shirt over his head and throws it right in JT’s face. It takes him so long to react that he’s surprised by Tyson biting him low on his stomach. He drops Tyson’s shirt on the floor and watches Tyson press a kiss to the same spot he just bit. Tyson’s hands are pressed to JT’s hips, his fingertips dipping into his jeans, which are starting to feel uncomfortably tight.

“God, yeah,” JT says, all the permission Tyson was waiting for to undo his jeans. He pulls his jeans and boxers down, slipping on the leather seat. 

“Fuck, you’re hot,” Tyson says, staring at him with one hand on his thigh and the other pushing his hair out of his face. JT is about to tell him the same thing, but before he can say anything Tyson leans down and takes JT’s dick in his mouth. 

“Oh, fuck,” JT groans. He drops his head back and barely misses cracking his head against the window. He curses again. 

Tyson looks up at him, and that’s a lot to process - Tyson’s big brown eyes, his flushed cheeks, and his lips spit-slick and stretched around JT’s dick. Slowly, deliberately, JT brings his hand to Tyson’s head and threads his fingers through his already messy curls. Tyson tips his head into JT’s touch, moaning when JT tightens his grip. JT’s not gonna last long like this. Tyson pulls off for a second, working him slowly with his hand. Then he licks his lips and takes him so deep JT sees stars. 

“Fuck, Tyson,” JT groans. He pulls Tyson’s hair harder than he means to, but Tyson moans around JT’s dick and reaches down to palm himself through his jeans. JT does it again and Tyson takes him deeper, sucks him harder until JT taps his shoulder in warning. Tyson either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, swallowing as JT comes. He’s pretty sure he’s gonna melt right into the leather seats; he hasn’t felt this good in a long time. 

It takes him a minute to realize he’s been running his fingers through Tyson’s hair this whole time, that Tyson’s eyes are closed and his cheeks are pink and he’s got his hand on himself, jacking himself off. 

“Whoa, hey, let me-” JT doesn’t even finish his offer before Tyson comes, moaning. He’s still holding himself up with a hand on JT’s thigh, his arm shaking and his fingers digging into JT’s leg. JT sits up and pulls him in for a kiss. He tastes himself on Tyson’s tongue for a moment, until Tyson pulls away and drops his head onto JT’s shoulder, breathing heavily. 

“I can’t believe we did this out here when your house is right over there,” JT says. 

“Yeah, and I can’t believe I came before you got your hands on my dick.” Tyson grins, self-deprecating but satisfied. There’s something about his expression that makes JT want to kiss him, but he’s starting to realize that might just be Tyson: gorgeous, dangerously charming and impossible to resist.

“Are you always like this?” JT asks. 

“Like what?” Tyson said. JT gestures vaguely to his flushed cheeks, to his hair sticking up all over the place. There was a dark hickey spread over his collarbone that JT put there, and his lips were still red and slick and swollen. He couldn’t bring himself to accuse Tyson of being slutty when he himself had just hooked up with him in the backseat of a car that he’s borrowing from someone else. He also didn’t know a better word to encompass what he wanted to know. He hasn’t known Tyson very long, but in that time he’s seen him with a few other guys, all laughing and grinning between casual touches. 

“I mean, yeah,” Tyson says eventually. “I’m always me.” That’s enough of an answer for JT. He’s had casual hook-ups; he knows how this is supposed to go. “I’m also kind of gross right now, I need to go change.”

“We should’ve just gone up to your room,” JT says, tossing Tyson’s shirt at him.

“Whatever,” Tyson says, pulling his shirt over his head. “Don’t even act like this wasn’t super hot.” He gets out of the car, leaving JT to fix his own clothes. When JT gets out of the backseat, Tyson is leaning against the hood waiting for him. “Besides, we can still go up to my room,” he says.

The way Tyson is looking at him right now - leaning against his car with his legs spread apart, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth - just makes JT want to pull him back into the backseat. “What are we waiting for?” JT asks. 

Tyson grabs his hand, a surprisingly innocent gesture, and leads the way back to his house. The party has calmed down considerably since they left. Most of the people are gone. There are still a couple people left out in the backyard, and somebody’s passed out on the couch, but Tyson takes JT upstairs to his room and closes the door behind them. 

Tyson flicks on a lamp on his way into the bathroom. A second later, JT hears a tap turn on. He looks around the room, at the clothes spilling out of the closet and at the photos pinned to the wall. Curious, he starts flipping through the book on Tyson’s nightstand when Tyson comes back into the room wearing a pair of boxers and nothing else.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey,” JT says back, feeling awkward and overdressed and a little out of place. Tyson crosses the room until he’s close enough to kiss. They’re almost exactly the same height but Tyson still manages to look up at him, an invitation and a dare. JT slides his fingers into Tyson’s hair again, making him sigh as he kisses him. 

They fall back on Tyson’s bed, and JT expects it to get heated as fast as it did in the car. Instead, Tyson rolls onto his side and just keeps kissing him, his hands cradling JT’s jaw softly. JT lets his eyes drift closed and loses himself in the feeling of Tyson’s lips, his hands. He has no idea how much time passes like this - a small eternity spent trading kisses. 

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Tyson says some time later, sliding his hands under JT’s shirt and up his back, making him shiver. Tyson keeps distracting him with kisses, though, and by the time he finally yanks his shirt off he feels a fire burning through him, sparked to life by Tyson’s hands on his bare skin. He kicks his jeans off, too, flinging them over the side of the bed. Tyson slides his leg over JT’s, sits himself in his JT’s lap with a grin. 

“What do you want?” Tyson asks, grinding his hips down in a way that makes both of them moan.

“You,” JT says, too turned on for anything but honesty. Tyson blushes a pretty shade of pink, his lips open in surprise. JT tries to struggle out of his boxers with Tyson still in his lap, until Tyson realizes what he’s doing and gets up, taking off his own boxers.

Tyson settles himself over JT again, both of them naked now, eyes wide as he looks at JT. He can feel himself blush under Tyson’s heavy gaze, all the way down to his chest. Tyson smiles. 

JT pulls him closer so he can wrap his hand around both of them and strokes, once. Tyson gasps and drops his head to JT’s shoulder. “Fuck, don’t stop,” he says, his lips tickling JT’s chest as he talks. He keeps jacking them both off, Tyson’s hips moving in short thrusts. 

Tyson reaches between them and wraps his hand around JT’s, gripping them tighter. It’s almost too much; Tyson himself is overwhelming ordinarily, and now he’s spread over JT’s lap, naked and flushed, breath heaving against JT’s neck. 

“God, look at you.” JT isn’t sure he actually says this aloud, since it’s a continuation of his thoughts, but Tyson looks up at him and JT knows he heard him by the expression on his face. JT speeds up his strokes and Tyson drops his head back to JT’s shoulder, coming between them with a gasp.

Tyson is practically a dead weight on JT’s thighs, his head still pressed to JT’s shoulder. JT keeps jacking himself off until Tyson gets ahold of himself. His hand is covered in his own come, making a mess of both of them when he tangles his fingers with JT’s again. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” Tyson says, his breath hot on JT’s ear. “I’ve wanted to do this since the first time I saw you, wanted to get you out of those coveralls and get my hands on your cock.” JT shudders. He knows people fantasize about mechanics in the same abstract way they do about firemen or whatever, but it’s completely different to have Tyson whispering it in his ear with his hand around his dick. 

“Wanna ride you,” Tyson says. “Bet you’d be so good, feel so good.” 

“Oh fuck, Tys,” JT curses, his whole body tensing as he comes. He flops back onto the mattress and closes his eyes, his pulse still pounding in his ears. 

He didn’t even realize Tyson left until he walks back in the room and drops a washcloth on JT’s chest. JT wipes himself clean and is trying to figure out the least awkward way to put his clothes back on and leave when Tyson says, “You can stay if you want.”

JT watches him get into bed, still unsure. “Okay,” he says quietly. He lies back down next to Tyson, leaving some space between them. “Thanks.” 

Tyson snorts. “Sure thing, buddy,” he says. “Now get over here and cuddle with me.” 

JT rolls his eyes but does what Tyson tells him, letting him move them around until he’s satisfied. Tyson’s head is on his chest, his arm snug around his waist. JT’s arm is under Tyson’s shoulder and he’s already starting to lose feeling in his fingertips, but it’s worth it for the way they’re curled into each other, Tyson quietly falling asleep.

][ ][ ][

The next morning, JT wakes up early, sunlight bleeding through the cracks in the blinds. JT’s left arm is completely numb, and next to him Tyson is still asleep sprawled out with his arms around JT. After a few minutes of lying in bed waiting either to fall back asleep or for Tyson to wake up, he carefully pulls himself out of Tyson’s arms and gets dressed. By the time he gets downstairs, he’s mostly made up his mind to sneak out the front door when a voice from the kitchen stops him.

“Hey.” JT turns. Kerf is standing by the counter, holding a steaming mug with a sloth on it. “Want some coffee?”

“Uh,” JT says, still debating making a break for it. Now that Kerf has said the word ‘coffee’ JT can smell it, and can already feel the headache starting at the back of his head that will only get worse without caffeine. “Sure,” he says, turning away from the door.

“I don’t think I actually caught your name yesterday,” Kerf says, grabbing another mug and filling it from a ridiculously fancy coffee machine.

“Yeah, I was with Tyson all night,” he says. Kerf raises his eyebrows for a second before he passes the coffee over. “Um. I’m JT.”

“Cool,” Kerf says, holding out a carton of half-and-half. JT takes it hesitantly and splashes some in his coffee. He has no idea how to react when the roommate of the guy he just hooked up with decides to interrogate him the next morning. 

Before Kerf can ask anything else, Tyson shuffles into the kitchen. He makes it all the way to the counter and slumps in a chair, resting his chin in his hands. When he realizes JT is standing there he perks up, a grin spreading across his face.

“Morning,” Tyson says brightly. “I see you guys have met.” Kerf slides a mug of coffee in front of Tyson, who turns his huge grin to Kerf. 

“Yep,” Kerf says, looking at JT. “Hey, how did _you_ guys meet?”

“He saved my life,” Tyson says, blowing on his coffee.

“Not really,” JT says. He loves his car, he knows Tyson loves his car, but what he did wasn’t even remotely life-saving. Inconvenience-fixing, sure, but nothing bigger than that.

“He fixed my car, twice-”

“Well, Barbs fixed it the second time-”

“He’s a mechanic.” The way Tyson says it makes him sound like a movie star or a rocket scientist or something way more exciting than a guy who fixes cars because he didn’t want to go to college.

“Yeah,” JT says, dragging his finger around the edge of his coffee mug. “I work on cars all day. It’s pretty cool, I guess.”

He’s mostly being sarcastic, but Kerf says, “Sounds more exciting than a desk job,” and he has to agree with that. He would go crazy writing emails all day. Kerf smiles and adds, “Tyson here has no practical skills.”

“Hey! That’s not true,” Tyson argues. Kerf and JT both look at him, waiting for an explanation. “I… um… Oh! I cooked dinner the other day.”

Kerf snorts. “Yep,” he says. “You made frozen Trader Joe’s pasta, that’s true.” 

“I barely needed the instructions,” Tyson adds. JT is hopelessly endeared.

“You’re doing great, buddy,” Kerf says. “Wash the dishes next time and you’ll get your kitchen merit badge.” JT laughs. Tyson glares at him from across the kitchen, but only for a few seconds, until his glare gives way to a soft smile.

“I can make breakfast, too,” Tyson says. He makes a big deal of having JT and Kerf wait at the table while he moves around the kitchen, bringing over three bowls of cereal like it’s five-star cuisine. JT bites his lip to stop himself from laughing.

“Wow, Josty, you really went all out,” Kerf says. Tyson shoves a bowl across the table at him so hard the milk sloshes over the side and drips off the edge of the table. The two of them stare at each other for a second before Tyson runs back to the kitchen for paper towels, and that’s what makes JT finally burst out laughing.

Tyson finally sits down at the table, pink-cheeked and smiling sheepishly. Kerf drops the paper towels on the floor and pushes them around with his foot, mostly cleaning up the mess. JT bumps his foot against Tyson’s under the table. Tyson hooks his foot around JT’s ankle, smiling brightly at him. It’s too easy for JT to get caught up in their banter, to laugh with Tyson and Kerf over coffee and cereal and feel like he belongs here with them. 

“I gotta get going,” JT says, following Tyson into the kitchen to put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. He should leave before they can offer more coffee or ask him to stay, to hang out and play video games or whatever. He’s starting to feel like he’s overstayed his welcome already, last night’s hook-up pretending this is really his life.

“Aw, okay,” Tyson says. The look on Tyson’s face - a little disappointed, not quite pouting and way too cute - almost makes him take it back. But if he doesn’t leave now, he doesn’t think he ever will, and neither of them are looking for that. That’s not what this is. “I’ll walk you out.”

Tyson stops him by the front door, a light touch at his wrist. He pulls JT in his arms and kisses him. It doesn’t feel like a goodbye; it’s dirty and lingering, Tyson’s tongue in his mouth a promise of next time.

“I had fun last night,” JT says when they break apart. He’s maybe three steps from the door but it feels impossibly far away, a distance not worth traveling. 

“Me too,” Tyson says, his fingers pressing lightly at the back of JT’s neck. “We should do it again sometime.”

JT laughs and they’re so close he can feel Tyson’s smile against his cheek. He takes a step back, then another. The more space that’s between them, the easier it is for him to not be drawn in by Tyson’s impossible, irresistible everything.

“See you around,” JT says as Tyson unlocks the front door and holds it open.

“Bye, JT,” Tyson says. 

JT glances back as he’s walking up the sidewalk to his car. The front door is closed and Tyson is gone. JT didn’t know what he expected, if he really thought Tyson would be there waiting for him to turn back. It was just one night, anyway.

The sight of Barbs’ BMW parked on the street brings back every memory of tumbling into the backseat, Tyson’s hands hot all over him, their bodies tangled together. He shakes himself out of it and starts the car, driving back to his place with the radio turned up loud, singing along to distract himself.

][ ][ ][

JT cleans Barbs’ BMW with an obsessive cleanliness beyond what he does for most customers’ cars. He takes it to the car wash, he vacuums the whole thing out, he shampoos the carpets and wipes down the seats and the entire time he can’t stop thinking about Tyson’s hands all over him, about Tyson’s mouth on him. It’s more than a little distracting, and JT has to stop himself from sending desperate texts to Tyson more than once. 

By the time he’s finished, he’s deleted several drafts of texts and his phone is turned off, shoved in his pocket. He’s pretty sure the car doesn’t smell like sex, but he debates getting an air freshener anyways. Barbs would definitely notice that and would probably know exactly why JT thought he needed one, so he settles for driving around with the windows down instead. It’s getting colder, almost too cold for this, but the wind clears thoughts of Tyson from his mind, makes it easier to focus on work.

][ ][ ][

It’s a crisp, bright fall day when JT finally starts his baby. He’s checked everything over, from the battery to the starter and all the fuel lines, had Barbs give the car a quick once-over, and now he’s sitting in the driver’s seat with the shop door open in front of him, the sun outside dazzling.

He turns the key. The engine cranks, turns over and rumbles to life, a monster awoken in a deep cave. JT grins. He’s started the car before, made sure the engine runs the way it should, but this is the first time he’s started it to take it for a drive.

“Yeah baby!” he yells. He doesn’t know if Barbs even hears him over the engine, but he cheers and high-fives him through the open window as JT pulls the car out of the shop. He’s probably just happy to have space in his garage again. 

The road from the parking lot dead-ends into the main road out of this industrial park, which runs out to a busy street lined with strip malls and fast food restaurants. JT turns onto it feeling like he’s on a runway to the rest of the universe. He passes the stores and all the people running errands who don’t realize they’re in the presence of greatness, of a minor miracle of mechanics and revitalized late ‘60s engineering. He takes his car farther than they usually do on test drives, turning onto the highway entrance ramp.

He stands on the gas in second gear and his car charges up the ramp with the ferocity of a wild animal. He watches the speedometer climb up, hears the engine roar, better than any song on the radio. He skips third and shifts it into fourth, glad there isn’t too much traffic at this time of day so he can cut across to the high speed lane and soar.

JT has driven a lot of cars during his career. A lot of them feel the same, all the Toyotas and Fords and Hondas with dull handling and bland road feel designed for the average commuter. Barbs would kill him for saying this, but to JT all German cars drive the same, with the sleek efficiency and cold precision of a surgical tool. It’s fine for some people, but not for JT.

There’s something primal about his Camaro - it’s a stripped-back perfection. The heat from the engine compartment pours in through the footwells. The gearshift falls into gear like a lock sliding into place, a feeling of belonging with every shift. JT knew from the moment he saw this car it would be impossible to drive it and not fall in love with it, and now, out on the highway with the windows rolled down and the wind in his face, his heart has never felt lighter.

He stays on the road longer than he means to, and by the time he gets back to the shop Barbs is pretty much done for the day. He cuts the engine and pockets his keys, still grinning like he’s achieved the impossible. In a way he did - he brought this car back from the rust, saved it from the scrapyard with his sweat and grit and determination. 

Barbs drops the hood on a black Range Rover when JT walks back into the shop. “All done?” JT asks.

“Yeah,” he says. “Just took a real quick oil change.”

JT frowns. “We do oil changes now?” People usually come here for bigger jobs - it’s not worth the cost to come here when there are places all over town that’ll do it in ten minutes for a fraction of the price.

“Special circumstances,” Barbs says with a cryptic smile. “Grab the keys and take it out, I’ll send the owner out to meet you.”

There aren’t many keys left on the board and JT finds the right ones easily. The stereo blares Justin Bieber when he starts the car. JT rolls his eyes and backs the car out of the garage, parking it in front of the office door. He hops out of the car and almost crashes right into Tyson.

“Thanks, dude,” Tyson says, reaching out for the keys. JT’s fingers stubbornly hold onto them, too confused by what’s happening to react. Tyson raises his eyebrows, holding on to JT’s hand.

“What is this?” JT asks, looking from Tyson to the car.

Tyson grins. “It’s a Range Rover,” he says. “I thought you’d know more about cars, y’know, since you’re a mechanic.” He pulls the keys from JT’s hand but makes no move to step out of his space. 

JT wants to glare at him but he’s finding it very hard to be annoyed with Tyson’s silly grin. “ _Whose_ is this?” he asks.

“Mine,” Tyson says. “Kerf drives it too, sometimes. I don’t know if you noticed, 911s are kind of small, not always practical.” 

“No, I never noticed,” JT says, just to see the way it makes Tyson smile. “You know, you could do your own oil changes, it’s really not that hard.”

“Encouraging your customers to fix their own cars doesn’t sound like a great business plan,” Tyson says. He licks his lips. “And I already told you I’d be a really bad mechanic. Besides, then I wouldn’t get to see you.”

JT takes a deep breath. His heart is racing. “We could see each other, like, other places…” They’ve already hooked up - it shouldn’t be this hard to ask someone on a date, especially when they’re so obviously flirting. “I mean, it’s not like I live here.”

“Oh yeah?” Tyson says. “You wanna get out of here? I know a nice little place not too far away.”

There’s a big chance Tyson just asked him to a makeout spot, which JT is more okay with than he probably should be. “Sure,” he says, smiling. “I’ll follow you.”

The “nice little place” Tyson was talking about turns out to be a nearby Mexican restaurant JT has never noticed. Tyson gets guacamole on his nose right after they get their food.

“You’ve got, uh,” JT swipes at his own nose. Tyson goes a little cross-eyed trying to see what JT’s talking about before sticking his tongue out to see if he can lick it off. JT hasn’t laughed this hard in a long time.

“Did I get it?” Tyson asks, his tongue still sticking out. JT is still laughing. Tyson wipes the back of his hand across his nose before JT can reach out and do it for him. Tyson’s grin is the brightest thing in the room.

At the table next to them, a group of teenagers laughs raucously. There’s a string of chile-shaped lights tacked on the sunshine yellow wall over their table. It’s not like they’re in some fancy place with tablecloths and candles on the table, but that’s what JT thinks of with first date nerves making his heart race. 

JT wants to reach out and hold Tyson’s hand across the table. He wants to get to know him better, ask about his job and how long he’s been friends with Kerf and why he picked a Porsche. He wants to know how Tyson’s day went, what his favorite food is, if he loves Denver as much as JT does. JT wants to share all these things about himself, too, and that scares him more than anything. 

But Tyson looks up between bites and says, “So you finished your car?” and that’s the easiest thing in the world for him to talk about, so he does.

“Yeah,” he says. “It runs great.” He doesn’t really know how to put that perfect feeling of driving his car into words, but he thinks of all the people he knows Tyson would probably understand it the best. “It’s exactly what I hoped it would be.”

“That’s awesome, dude,” Tyson says. “Can I drive it sometime?”

“I don’t know, can you?” JT asks jokingly. Tyson frowns.

“Wait, is it a stick?”

“Yeah,” JT says slowly. “Automatic transmission was still an option in the ‘60s.”

“Oh,” Tyson said. He scratches his nose and looks away, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. “Guess I can’t, then.”

“I’ll teach you,” JT offers immediately. “I mean, if you want. It’s not that complicated.”

“Really?” he asks.

JT shrugs. “Sure,” he says. He has a lot more free time now that he’s done restoring his car, and he would be happy to share his work with Tyson, show him why he spent so much time and effort fixing something most people would’ve destroyed.

“Sweet,” Tyson says, grinning. “My stick-handling skills are pretty good, maybe I’ll be, like, a prodigy.” 

JT snorts. “Okay,” he says, startling when Tyson flicks a tortilla chip at him. JT reaches across the table and grabs Tyson’s hand before he starts a food fight and gets them kicked out. Tyson’s smile spreads slowly across his face and stays for the rest of the meal. He doesn’t know for sure if this is a date or just two guys getting dinner, but either way he doesn’t want it to end. 

They finished eating and are out in the parking lot when Tyson asks, “Text me about that driving lesson?” 

“Yeah,” JT says. “I’m not too busy, so whenever you’re free.” 

“Cool,” Tyson says. He leans close and kisses JT, soft and sweet and shorter than he wants it to be. “Night, dude.”

JT blinks. He still can’t believe Tyson is real. “Night,” he says, but Tyson’s already halfway to his car.

][ ][ ][

“Dude, I can’t believe you, like, built this whole thing,” Tyson says, running his hands over the Camaro’s steering wheel. JT is too busy staring at him to correct him. It isn’t worth pointing out the difference between “built” and “rebuilt,” anyways.

He really should’ve known better. Of course seeing Tyson behind the wheel of his car was going to hit him like a gut punch, going to suck all the air out of his lungs and rearrange the universe with the rightness of it. Tyson’s focused on the parking lot ahead of him, his tongue poking out between his lips as he tries to get the car rolling in first. The engine rumbles, the car lurches forward, and just when JT thinks he’s got it, the car stalls. 

“Damnit,” Tyson says. He turns the keys but nothing happens. He tries again, but still nothing. JT closes his eyes and prays to whatever god of cars is listening that his car isn’t actually dead when he barely got a chance to drive it.

“Is it overheating?” Tyson asks. “Did I break it?”

JT opens his eyes and looks out the windshield. No steam pours out from under the hood. He leans over to look at the dash. The gauges are all up, so the car’s pulling power from the battery, but the heat gauge is sitting right where it should be. 

“No, I don’t think so,” he says. “Turn it off.” 

Tyson does, keeping his fingers on the keys. His knees are bent up under the steering wheel. That could be the problem.

“Foot on the clutch, then try it again,” JT says. 

“Oh,” Tyson says. The rest of his reply is drowned in the engine rumbling to life. 

“Ease off the clutch,” JT says. He’s only driven it a few times, but the Camaro’s a pretty forgiving car to drive. “More gas, you got it, that’s it.”

The car lurches forward again and stutters into first gear. “That’s right!” Tyson shouts. He turns around a lampost and puts it into second pretty easily, but grinds the gears pretty impressively when he goes for third.

“No, here.” JT drops his hand over Tyson’s on the gearshift. The car swerves a bit when Tyson looks over at JT and jerks to a stop when Tyson takes his foot off the clutch too quickly. JT catches himself with a hand on the dashboard.

“My bad,” Tyson says. He goes to restart the car and try again but JT stops him.

“Here, wait.” His hand is still on top of Tyson’s. “Put your foot on the clutch again.” He guides Tyson’s hand back to first. It’s weird shifting gears with his left hand, and it’s a better, nicer weird that his whole hand is a little tingly, wrapped around Tyson’s fingers. 

“First is pretty easy, then second is straight back from there. Third’s a little tricky, it’s not as far over as you think. Then fourth is straight back again.” He helps Tyson move through the gears. Tyson’s forehead is wrinkled in concentration as he stares at their hands, studying the movements and repeating them a few times.

“Okay,” Tyson says, pulling his hand away from JT’s to restart the car again. “Okay. Here we go.”

He gets it in first no problem, shifts up to second and circles the parking lot. Every time he shifts gears he sticks his tongue out and frowns, his face scrunched up in concentration. It’s pretty cute; JT wants to kiss him but he doesn’t want to encourage distracted driving, even if they are in an empty parking lot.

JT makes him stop and start, has him shift from third down to second. Tyson stalls the car a couple more times, but he’s pretty much gotten the hang of it. JT’s about to suggest he could take it out on the road if he wants when Tyson stops the car and pulls up the parking brake. Before JT can ask what he’s doing, Tyson leans over the center console and kisses him softly.

JT blinks. “What was that for?”

“For later,” Tyson says with a wink. JT’s heart glows like an ember in his chest. Tyson goes to start the car again, but JT reaches across the car, stops him and kisses him again. Tyson’s mouth falls open and he turns to face JT, trying to pull him closer.

“Fuck later,” JT says.

“Oh, hell yeah,” Tyson breathes. He braces himself on JT’s shoulder and clambers over the center console. He topples sideways across JT’s lap, one of his legs still on the driver’s seat, and catches himself on the door. 

“Smooth,” JT says, giggling. 

“Shut up,” Tyson says, close enough JT can feel his breath against his lips.

JT grins. Before he can dare Tyson to make him shut up, he’s kissing him again, tilting his head back with his hands on his jaw. JT slides his hands around Tyson’s back, holding him on his lap as Tyson rocks his hips down in short thrusts that make JT groan.

“We have gotta stop doing this,” JT gasps.

“What?” Tyson’s eyes are huge and dark, his teeth pressed into his red, red lip. All of JT’s blood is rushing away from his brain, making it hard to remember why this is a bad idea. 

“Hooking up in cars like horny teenagers,” he says. Tyson smiles and grinds his hips down again. JT digs his thumbs into the skin above Tyson’s hips and holds on, kisses down Tyson’s neck to his collar. 

“Wait, wait,” JT says when Tyson reaches down to pull off his shirt. “We’re in the middle of a parking lot, somebody could see us.”

“So?” Tyson asks, playfully lifting his shirt up. It’s a pretty compelling argument but it doesn’t change the fact that they’re in a public parking lot in the middle of the day.

“I think this counts as, like, public indecency.”

Tyson sighs, reaches down and opens the door. He stumbles out of the car, scraping his hands through his hair. JT watches his back as he takes a few steps away, his shoulders moving as he takes each breath.

“Hey,” JT calls. “My place is pretty close.”

Tyson turns around, grinning. “I’ll drive,” he says.

JT’s heart flutters, watching Tyson get into the driver’s seat and start the car. It’s a good thing Tyson focuses on the road as he’s driving, because if he looked over at JT even for a second he’d see the obvious affection all over JT’s face, feelings way too intense for whatever this is. JT gives Tyson directions to his apartment, and he doesn’t stall the car once but he does speed the whole way there.

They barely make it through the door before Tyson’s yanking his shirt over his head and kicking off his jeans, nearly falling over when they get caught on his shoes. JT follows his lead, dropping his clothes on the floor and straightening up just in time to catch Tyson in his arms. Both of them stumble backwards, JT trips over a chair in his living room and they fall to the floor in a heap, knocking a stack of magazines off the coffee table in the process.

“Whoops,” Tyson says, looking completely unapologetic with his hands on JT’s chest and his legs straddling JT’s hips.

“I didn’t bring you here to destroy my house,” JT says, but he’s smiling. He’s pretty sure he’s gonna have bruises from falling all over his living room but he really doesn’t care.

“No, but I want you to destroy me,” Tyson says, grinding against him like he did in the car. His thrusts are slower now, and JT can feel his hard cock through his underwear. JT sits up and kisses down Tyson’s neck again, sucking a bruise over his collarbone. He kisses lower down Tyson’s chest, flicking a nipple with his tongue. Tyson moans and grabs JT’s hair, keeping him there. JT rocks his hips up to meet Tyson’s thrusts, sparks dancing up his spine at the friction.

“Fuck me,” Tyson pleads. “JT, please.” His head is tipped back, eyes half-lidded and lips bitten and swollen. He already looks so wrecked it takes JT’s breath away. JT’s heart is doing its best to beat right out of his ribcage.

“Yeah,” JT breathes. “Bedroom, c’mon.”

He leads Tyson down the hall to his bedroom, stopping at the bathroom to grab lube and condoms. When he gets to his room Tyson is naked on his bed, stroking himself slowly. JT’s dick is hard and leaking, pressing against the waistband of his underwear as he stands in the doorway watching as Tyson arches his back and spreads his legs wider.

“Stop staring and come over here,” Tyson says, voice rough.

JT drops the lube and condoms on his bed so he can take off his underwear, and by the time he does Tyson has already slicked up his fingers and is opening himself up. 

“Fuck,” JT curses, dripping lube on his own fingers. “Let me.”

He works Tyson open slowly, watching his face and waiting for Tyson to push himself onto JT’s hand before adding another finger.

“Harder, c’mon,” he breathes. “I can take it.”

So JT fucks him harder, pushes his fingers in deeper and arching them until Tyson moans and shivers. Tyson’s dick is flushed red and curved up over his stomach. JT leans down and licks the tip, sucks him in his mouth as he adds a third finger. Tyson moans again, a broken sound that might be JT’s name, as he fists one hand in the sheets and drags the other through JT’s hair.

“Oh, okay,” Tyson gasps, grasping in the sheets for the condom JT dropped earlier. “I’m good, fuck me.” JT thrusts his fingers in a few more times, crooking them deep and making Tyson shout. His dick twitches in JT’s mouth. Tyson finds the condom half-buried in the sheets and shoves it at his shoulder. JT takes it, pulling off Tyson’s dick with a wet pop.

Tyson whines when JT pulls his fingers out, as gently as he can. His hands shake as he rolls the condom on and he can feel Tyson watching him, gaze heavy and hungry. JT slicks himself up and takes a second, sucks in a few deep breaths and tries to calm himself down enough to make this last. Tyson plants his feet on the mattress and tilts his hips up in obvious invitation.

JT holds himself steady and pushes in slowly, Tyson still so tight around him. His eyes are closed, a flush spreading down his chest and making the marks he left earlier stand out darkly on his skin. It’s almost impossible for JT to keep himself still once he bottoms out, but Tyson’s eyebrows are furrowed, his chest heaving, and JT wants to give him a minute to adjust, pressing kisses along the inside of Tyson’s thigh.

“What are you waiting for?” Tyson asks, a minute or an eternity later, a grin pulling up the corners of his lips. JT leans in and kisses that grin, pulling out and fucking into Tyson a few times. Tyson rocks into JT’s movements, bending one knee up to his chest so he can get deeper. JT’s hips stutter. He braces himself with a hand on the wall, holds Tyson open with a hand on the back of his thigh and really fucks into him, hard enough the bed hits the wall. One of them is moaning on every stroke, and it takes JT a minute to realize it’s him.

“Knew you’d be so good at this,” Tyson says, hooking his other foot around JT’s back. He tangles his fingers with JT’s hand on his thigh, tracing his left hand down JT’s face in a surprisingly tender gesture. “So fucking good, JT, oh my god.”

JT wants to tell Tyson he’s better than good, he’s amazing, he’s perfect, but before he can Tyson is pulling him in and kissing him, open-mouthed and filthy. JT has to break it to take a breath. 

“‘M so close,” he says, his voice so raspy it’s almost unrecognizable. “Tys, I -”

“Yeah,” Tyson gasps. “Yeah, do it.”

He pulls out slowly, rubbing his thumb back and forth across Tyson’s thigh and slipping three fingers back in as he pulls off the condom with his other hand. It only takes a few strokes before he’s coming all over Tyson’s hard dick, spattering up his stomach and across his chest. Tyson’s mouth hangs open, his eyes dark and glassy watching JT shudder through his orgasm.

Slowly, Tyson drags his fingers through the mess on his chest, looking up at JT the whole time as he licks them clean. He does it again, sucking his fingers into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks around them. JT swears, wraps his hand around Tyson’s hard, leaking dick and starts jacking him off. Tyson clenches around JT’s fingers, hips still thrusting up into JT’s hand and then back onto his fingers.

“That’s it, come on, babe,” JT says. “So good for me, Tyson. So good.” Tyson whimpers and comes, adding to the mess on his stomach.

For a second, JT just stares. That was, objectively, the hottest thing he’s ever seen and definitely some of the best sex he’s ever had. He pulls out and wipes his fingers on the dirty sheets. He needed to wash them anyways, now he has no choice. He kisses the side of Tyson’s knee and collapses next to him. 

“Dude,” Tyson says. JT blinks up at him and waits for him to continue, but Tyson doesn’t say anything else. The evening light filters through the curtains, highlighting him in gold.

“Dude,” JT echoes, closing his eyes. 

“You know what sounds perfect right now?”

“A nap?” JT mumbles, already half asleep. 

“Pizza,” Tyson says, slowly dragging his fingers through JT’s hair. It’s hypnotizing. JT can barely focus on what he’s saying. “Extra cheese, pepperoni, the works.”

“What’s ‘the works’ on a pizza?” JT asks, his words muffled by his pillow.

Tyson’s hand stops as he thinks. “Sausage, peppers, olives,” he says. “No mushrooms though.”

“No olives either, but okay,” JT says. “Nap first, then pizza.”

“Okay,” Tyson says softly. He’s stroking JT’s hair again, and JT falls asleep moments later, deeply content.

He wakes up a few hours later, sticky and sweaty. Tyson is awake next to him, looking at his phone. “Pizza?” he asks hopefully, dropping his phone on the bed when he sees JT’s awake.

JT makes a face. “Shower first?”

Tyson scrunches his nose. JT would kiss him if his face was closer, but he still doesn’t really have the motivation to move. “Probably a good idea,” Tyson says. “But if we order now it’ll be here when we’re done.”

JT grins. “Wow, who knew there was a brain under all this?” he says, ruffling Tyson’s already messy curls. 

Tyson rolls his eyes and shoves him away, passing him his phone. “Just put in your address, I’ve got an order already set up.”

In the shower, they soap each other up and kiss lazily under the spray until Tyson’s stomach rumbles so loudly it startles both of them. 

“Why didn’t you say you were hungry?” JT says, grinning. Tyson punches him in the shoulder.

“You’re such a jerk,” he says, laughing, as he gets out of the shower. He puts on a pair of boxers and nothing else, distracting JT as he wanders around the apartment.

When it gets there, they eat the pizza on the couch, some sitcom JT’s never watched on the tv in the background. Tyson has finished his third piece of pizza and is reaching for a fourth when he says, “You know how when people ask if you were stranded on a deserted island, what would you take, how everybody assumes it’s a tropical island? What if it was, like, a Canadian island in the middle of winter? You’d freeze, then it wouldn’t matter what you brought.”

JT stares at him. Tyson picks a pepperoni off his pizza and eats it, licking grease from his fingers when he notices JT staring. “What?”

“Are you high?” JT asks. 

“No, just thinking,” he says. He takes another bite of pizza and chews. “I guess you’d be okay if it was a Canadian island during the summertime, as long as there’s no bears.”

“What would you bring?” JT asks. Clearly Tyson’s thinking a lot about this.

“Bug spray,” he says. “And a helicopter and somebody to fly it.”

“That’s cheating,” JT says. A laugh track rolls on tv, almost on cue.

“No, it’s problem solving,” Tyson says, pointing at JT with his pizza crust to emphasize his point. “Fine. A tent and firewood, happy?”

JT shrugs. He could be happy on any island if he had Tyson there with him, but he doesn’t say that. “I think I’d bring a boat,” he says instead, grinning at the indignant noise Tyson makes.

JT stretches and leans back on his couch, lets Tyson curl into his side and flips through the channels to a basketball game. Halfway through the game, Tyson pushes him down on the couch and blows him. He takes him apart slowly and thoroughly until JT is breathless and nearly begging for it, then he lets JT fuck his mouth, rough and dirty and perfect. He returns the favor later, both of them stretched out in his bed. Tyson gasps his name, blunt fingernails digging into his shoulders and his thumb tracing the outline of JT’s lips on his dick.

][ ][ ][

The next morning JT wakes up to his alarm. Tyson is gone and the bed is cold; his clothes are gone from the floor when JT looks on his way to the coffeemaker. He showers and gets dressed, not looking at his phone until after a few gulps of coffee. There are a couple texts from Tyson at a little after 5 in the morning.

Tyson: _sorry had to get to work_

Tyson: _I’ll try to stay for breakfast next time_ 😜 

_nbd_ , JT texts back. He’s also got a request from a Josty17 on Instagram. He doesn’t know how Tyson even found his Instagram - he doesn’t really post a whole lot, but he spends more time that morning looking at Tyson’s account than he does eating breakfast. Tyson posts a lot, lots of cars and guys and a couple pictures of some lake, Tyson smiling bright in every picture he’s in. The most recent post is from yesterday, a black and white photo of JT’s Camaro’s dashboard captioned “learn something new every day.”

JT stares at it. He didn’t even notice Tyson take the picture, but he’d never mistake his car. He took it apart and put it back together and he would know it anywhere. He clicks the little heart beneath the picture, types “hope you had a good teacher” in the comments and waits stupidly, like Tyson has the time to look through Instagram at work. He checks his phone again, then has to double check it because he didn’t notice the time and now he’s gonna be late. 

He rushes out the door and makes it to the shop fifteen minutes after his shift was supposed to start. Barbs looks up when he walks in.

“Late night?” he asks, grinning. 

JT mumbles a quiet “yeah,” sure his blush is answer enough.

“There’s a Civic coming in for new tires in a couple minutes,” Barbs says. “Think you can handle it, or do I need to call in somebody else?”

“I’ll be fine,” JT says. He turns off his phone and leaves it in his locker with his jacket. He doesn’t need the distraction.

Work is work. He jokes with Barbs, helps him replace the suspension on his friend’s Subaru and loses rock-paper-scissors to go pick up lunch at Subway around the corner. It’s a pretty standard day, but as the afternoon wears on he keeps glancing at the door hoping for a familiar blue Porsche to roll in. It never does.

They’re cleaning up at the end of the day when Barbs says, “Hey, you’re still okay working this Saturday, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll hold down the fort,” JT says. He kind of forgot that Barbs had already asked if JT could run the shop for that day weeks ago, bouncing on his heels with excitement about the last track event of the summer.

“You’re the best,” Barbs says. “Call me if you need anything, but like, don’t need anything.” Both of them laugh.

When he turns his phone on that night, more texts than usual pop up on the screen. A couple of them are from his sister, reminding him about their dinner plans that week, but his heart skips when he sees Tyson’s name.

Tyson: _any plans this weekend?_

Tyson: _there’s a race on Saturday. You should come_

Tyson: _show me what you got_

Tyson: 🏎 🏁⚡️

JT frowns. He’s never really cared about track events - they’re always the same kind of snobby people with more money than driving skills and everyone bragging about who they know, whose car they’ve ridden shotgun in and who coached them to race. But he would go with Tyson, would drive his Camaro just to feel what it’s like to go around a racetrack. He pictures Tyson’s face, eyes bright and cheeks flushed with excitement after a lap, and regrets giving up his Saturday so easily.

JT: _can’t, I promised I’d work that day_

Tyson’s reply is almost immediate, a single frowny face. JT doesn’t really know how to respond to that - he’s disappointed, sure, but there’s nothing he can do about it. He’s home that night, stacking his dinner plate in the sink to wash tomorrow or next week or whatever when his phone lights up with another text.

Tyson: _you still owe me a race though_

It takes JT a minute to remember what he’s talking about. That night they met was only a few weeks ago. It feels impossible, given how much he’s let Tyson into his thoughts, into his life, that they’ve only known each other such a short amount of time. 

JT: _we’ll see_

It’s the same thing he said that night, and the same reckless hope pounds in his chest - a mix of adrenaline and desire and indestructibility. He wants to impress Tyson. If Tyson asked him to take on the world, he would do it without a second thought.

The rest of the week passes slowly, now that JT knows what he’ll be missing that weekend. He goes to work, cleans his apartment, catches up with some friends, and the whole time he and Tyson text on and off. It’s never anything important, really, just random stuff about their days or whatever’s on their minds. It’s nice.

][ ][ ][

His sister is only in town for a few days, but she makes JT take her to dinner at the cafe downtown. It’s a little hipster for JT’s taste but Morgan likes it, so he deals with the ukulele covers of Fleetwood Mac playing over the speakers and the plants hanging over their table, practically in his face. Morgan fills him in on her classes and on more sorority gossip than he can possibly keep up with. 

He sneaks a glance at his phone when they get their drinks and again after they order. Tyson has a big meeting at work tomorrow and he keeps asking JT for help deciding what to wear. He’s not sure why - JT wears pretty much the same thing every day, and he rarely has a reason to wear anything fancier than jeans. Tyson looks really good in both of the suits he sends in his pictures, then he sends one of himself holding up two ties and making a dumb face. JT laughs.

“So,” Morgan says loudly. “Who’re you texting?”

“Just a friend,” JT says quickly, putting his phone down. 

Morgan raises her eyebrows at him. JT stares back at her. There’s no way she’ll just let that go, so he’s not surprised when she darts her hand across the table for his phone. JT grabs it but she grabs his hand before he can pull away and they struggle for the phone, almost knocking over a water glass and narrowly missing a passing waiter. He finally wrestles the phone away, knocking a few leaves off the plant above their table.

“Just a friend,” his sister repeats skeptically. “Tell me who it is.”

“No,” he says.

“Then I’ll have to assume it’s a mail-order bride service,” she says, shrugging. 

JT scoffs. “Definitely not.”

“Tell me,” she repeats. “Tell me tell me tell me tell me tell me.” Morgan has never been shy, has never cared about making a scene. She’s still chanting, banging her fist and leaning over the table. The couple at the table next to theirs keep sneaking glances at them.

“Fine,” JT bursts out. Several more people turn to look at them. JT can feel his whole face heat up and fights the urge to sink down under the table. Morgan just grins at him, resting her chin on her hands. “His name is Tyson.”

“Is he cute?” she asks.

“I - yeah,” JT says. Morgan looks at him expectantly so he rolls his eyes and hands over his phone so she can see the pictures he sent.

“Oh he is cute,” she says, surprised. “Wow, you have better taste than I thought.”

“Hey,” he says, pulling his phone out of her grasp. He pockets it, hoping he remembers to text Tyson back later, where his sister can’t see.

“Tell him to wear the pinstripes,” she says. “Very professional, he’ll rock that meeting.”

“You read my texts?”

“You gave me your phone.” She drags a french fry through the ketchup left on JT’s plate. “Those were very flirty texts for ‘just a friend’.”

Morgan’s lucky they’re in the middle of a restaurant, because otherwise he might try to kill her. “Can we please stop talking about my love life?” he asks, pulling his plate far enough away that Morgan can’t reach the ketchup. He’s done eating, he just doesn’t feel like sharing with her, either. “Do you have a boyfriend I need to know about?”

“Your love life, huh?” she says. JT groans, realizing way too late he slipped up, but Morgan lets it go. “No, I don’t have a boyfriend, but I can tell you about the guys I’ve hooked up with this semester if you really wanna know.”

“Jesus Christ.” JT turns to the closest waiter. “Can we get the check please?” This isn’t the sweet reunion with his sister he was expecting. Stupid of him - he knows Morgan, and this is exactly what he should’ve expected to happen.

“I’m happy for you,” she says softly.

”What?” JT asks, confused. She’s just spent their entire dinner tormenting him, probably some twisted retribution for all his teasing when they were little.

She shrugs. “The last time we talked, you were super busy with work and your car, like that was the only thing in your life you had to care about. So I’m glad you have this Tyson guy, whatever you are to each other. You seem happier.”

He looks up at her, surprised. He still vividly remembers the summer he convinced her there was a monster in Lake Michigan but it only ate people who stayed in the water long enough for their hands to get wrinkled and pruny. She still cried every time they went to the lake that summer and refused to go anywhere near the water.

“When did you get so smart?” he asks. 

“That’s literally what college is for,” she says. “Maybe you should’ve tried it.”

“I’m smart enough already,” JT says. Morgan grins but doesn’t tease him anymore. She starts talking about Christmas break instead, an unspoken peace treaty. JT still doesn’t dare take out his phone in front of her.

When JT finally texts Tyson back, after he’s dropped Morgan off at her hotel, he does tell him to wear the striped suit. He doesn’t need to tell Morgan she was right; it’ll only go to her head then she’ll really be insufferable.

][ ][ ][

Saturday rolls around. JT goes to work like normal, turns up the music at the shop and gets a lot done. He chats with the lady who comes in to get the spark plugs replaced in her Mercedes, checks the messages on the shop’s phone, and spends the rest of the day rebuilding the transmission in an old Jeep.

He locks up the shop early but takes the long way home, lets the revs climb between gear shifts and lets the roar of the engine drown his thoughts. He stops to pick up dinner on the way, too tired to cook anything and fairly certain there’s not much to cook in his apartment anyway. He eats on the couch, scrolling idly through Instagram. If he’s started checking the app way more since he followed Tyson, nobody else needs to know.

Tyson’s latest post is a bunch of cars from today. There’s his Porsche, Nate’s Aston, that Ferrari from the party, all gleaming in the sunshine. He likes the post and keeps scrolling, passing a bunch of pictures of one of his high school buddy’s kitchen renovation project and a picture of Denver that Morgan must’ve taken from the plane. He’s paying so little attention he almost misses another post of Tyson’s from earlier today.

It’s Tyson and some guy standing in front of a bright yellow Huracan. They’re both smiling at the camera, arms around each other. Whoever the guy is, he’s obnoxiously pretty, all cheekbones and swoopy dark hair. Jealousy burns through him so intensely it takes a second for him to realize there’s more photos in the post: Tyson and Nate; Tyson and a super tall, super built blond guy; a big group photo. 

The logical part of his brain thinks Tyson has a lot of friends and it’s just a stupid Instagram post, but it’s harder for him to fight the ugly jealousy rearing its head the longer he looks at that first picture. He puts his phone down, not hungry anymore.

So he and Tyson hooked up a couple times and they text back and forth - it’s not like they’re actually dating. They don’t owe each other anything. Tyson can do whatever he wants with whoever he wants. It’s not fair of JT to stop him, no matter how much he hates it.

That night he falls asleep on the couch, his half-eaten fast food still on the coffee table and hockey highlights playing on mute on the tv. He wakes up in the middle of the night, his knee aching from the awkward way his leg was bent under him and the tv glaringly bright in his dark living room. He cleans off the table, turns off the tv and drags himself to bed. His phone is stuck where he dropped it between the couch cushions.

][ ][ ][

Over the next few days, then weeks, JT’s life slowly slips back to the way it was before he met Tyson. He’s not sure which of them starts it, the gradual process of letting go. He lets hours go by before responding to Tyson’s texts, sometimes forgetting to reply at all, so Tyson texts him less. They’re still more or less the same, random things about Tyson’s day or about the weird reality series he’s watching with Kerf, just less frequent. JT is thankful Tyson doesn’t outright ask what’s wrong, doesn’t force him to voice his stupid, irrational jealousy or explain his overly caring heart. It’s easier this way.

Time goes by and Tyson’s name falls farther and farther down in JT’s texts. He thinks about texting him some days, writes out messages only to erase them again. He feels stupid picking up their conversation after all this time, and he can’t make himself apologize for the way he still feels about Tyson.

Every shift at work he’s distracted, glancing up when he hears certain engines pull into the parking lot. Tyson doesn’t stop by again, never rolls up in his Porsche no matter how much JT hopes for him. He’s surprised when one morning a familiar car pulls into the parking lot - just not the one he expects. 

Kerf parks his Tesla outside the garage and gets out. It’s impossible to read his expression from here. 

“Does that thing even have an engine?” JT means it as a genuine question. He doesn’t mean to sound like such a dick, so he can’t really be mad at Kerf for glaring at him like that.

“I want to talk to you,” he says. He waits out in the parking lot, halfway between the open garage door and his car.

“Okay,” JT says slowly, setting down his wrench and going outside. It’s chilly and he doesn’t have a coat. He rolls his sleeves back down and shoves his hands in his pockets. “What’s up?”

Kerf folds his arms over his chest. JT’s pretty sure he’s trying to look intimidating, but he’s trying too hard and it’s kind of hard to take him seriously. “Look,” Kerf says after a minute. “Tyson doesn’t do this a lot.” 

“What?” JT doesn’t even kind of understand what’s going on here.

Kerf runs his hands through his hair, frustrated. “His past three boyfriends were friends of his first,” he says. “He’s still friends with them. The guys he hooks up with don’t stay the night, and he definitely doesn’t make them breakfast the next morning. Even if it’s just cereal.”

It slowly dawns on JT that Kerf is giving him some version of the shovel talk. “I don’t know what you think is happening. We’re just hooking up, it’s casual.” 

Kerf raises his eyebrows. “Is it? Did Tyson actually say that?”

JT opens his mouth and closes it again. JT thought it was casual because that’s how most of his past relationships have been. He never thought to ask Tyson about it. They never talked about their relationship at all, and JT just now realizes that’s their whole problem - they’ve stopped talking almost completely, but even when they were hooking up they never actually talked about their relationship.

Kerf sighs. “Look, I try not to judge people I don’t know that well, but you’re a fucking idiot.” JT doesn’t bother arguing with him. They both know he’s right.

He shakes his head, a small smile on his face. “Josty is too, so you guys have that in common.” He takes a couple steps closer to JT. “Look, Tyson really likes you. A lot,” he says. “So don’t fuck this up or I’ll help him go Carrie Underwood on your car.”

The situation really isn’t funny, but maybe that’s why JT laughs so hard - he’s laughing at his own stupidity more than anything. “Really?” he asks. 

“Well, we have more lacrosse sticks than baseball bats, but I think they’d still do some damage,” Kerf says. He lets his arms drop to his sides. They stand there in silence for a minute, a cold wind cutting across the parking lot. JT doesn’t know Kerf that well but he knows he’s pretty smart, so he waits for him to answer his actual question.

“Do you think I’d be here if he didn’t care?” Kerf asks. “Or if I didn’t think you cared about him? I was in the kitchen that morning, I saw you guys.”

“I…” JT can’t believe he wasted all this time trying to ignore his feelings for Tyson when apparently Tyson felt the same way. He can’t believe he was dumb enough to think Tyson only saw him as a hook-up. “I gotta talk to him.”

“Yeah, buddy, you do,” Kerf says. “He works ‘til 5, come by our place after then.”

“Okay,” JT says. Kerf nods and walks away. He’s about to get back in his car when JT adds, “Hey, thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet, he could still tell you to fuck off.” Both of them know Tyson, know that’s not gonna happen. At least, JT hopes not. He stands in the parking lot as Kerf gets back into his car and leaves, the car silent as it drives away. For weeks he’s been trying to convince himself he’s not miserable, that he’s been saving himself the heartache of Tyson telling him he’s not interested in a relationship because that’s just what JT expected him to say. Apparently he was wrong.

“How’s it going with that starter? JT?” Barbs leans out the door, shrugging into his hoodie. “Man, it’s cold out here. What’re you doing?”

“Nothing,” JT says. “Getting some air.” He goes back into the shop where it’s warmer, rubs his hands together and gets back to work.

The day drags by so slowly it feels like time is moving backwards - one minute he looks at the clock and it’s 11:47. He looks back at it after he’s got the starter out of the SUV he’s working on and the clock hasn’t moved. It’s like a nightmare.

He isn’t sure if it’s better or worse that he’s busy all day. After he’s done with the starter, the shop is a rotating door of people coming in to get winter tires mounted and balanced, getting cracked windshields replaced, testing and replacing brakes. They do what feels like a week’s worth of work in six hours.

The minute JT’s shift is done, he scrubs most of the dirt and grease off his hands, runs his wet fingers through his hair, checks that he doesn’t have dirt in his beard again. 

“Big plans tonight?” Barbs asks, watching JT pull on his jacket and dig through his pockets for his car keys. 

“Yeah,” JT says distractedly. He doesn’t really have a plan, per se. Step one: go to Tyson’s place. Step two: un-fuck up everything. He’s still working out the details on that part.

][ ][ ][

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel the entire drive over to Tyson’s, taking turns a little too fast and cursing every slow driver he gets stuck behind. When he finally gets to Tyson’s street, he slows down, parks by the curb and doesn’t move. He lets the car idle for a minute, his heart pounding louder than the engine.

Tyson has every reason to hate him. JT dodged all his attempts to race, then he ignored him for no reason, because of his own jealous assumptions. He could tell JT to leave and JT would, understanding completely. And that’s why he’s still sitting in his car.

When JT kills the engine the street is suddenly painfully quiet. He can do this - he just has to admit he was being an idiot and apologize. He takes a deep breath and gets out of the car. 

The doorbell echoes in the house when he presses it, taking a step back and waiting on the porch. No one answers it. He knocks a couple times, waits, tries the doorbell again, but by now it’s pretty obvious that either nobody’s home or whoever’s there is ignoring him. JT runs his hands through his hair in frustration and turns back to the driveway. Should he just wait on the porch, or wait in his car, or try again later? He takes his phone out of his pocket and unlocks it, trying to think of what to put in this text, when a car pulls in the drive.

Tyson leaves his Porsche in front of the garage and gets out of the car, walking around it to stand across the yard from JT. He’s wearing a suit, his hair slicked back, and JT wants nothing more than to mess it up, to take his time undressing him. He waits, frozen to the spot, feeling foolish in his dirty work jeans.

“Hey,” Tyson says cautiously. He smiles, but not the way JT remembers - it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “What’s up?”

JT opens his mouth, licks his lips, frowns. He still doesn’t know what to say. He tries again. “I should’ve texted you back.”

Tyson shrugs, slips his hands in his pockets. “I figured you were busy or whatever.”

“I’m never too busy for you,” JT says, too honest too fast. He jumps down the last step and takes a few steps across the yard. Tyson meets him halfway and pulls him in for a hard kiss, hands gripping JT’s arms just a little too tight. JT kisses him immediately, slides his hands under Tyson’s nice suit jacket and pulls him closer before he remembers why he came here in the first place.

“Wait, wait,” he breathes, taking a step back. He can’t force himself to let go of Tyson, keeps his hands pressed to his sides. “I need to talk to you.”

“Talk later,” Tyson says, leaning in for another kiss. “Let’s go inside.”

“Wait,” JT says again. “This is important.”

“Okay,” Tyson says softly. He bites his lip and takes a step back, putting some space between them.

JT’s gaze is fixed on Tyson’s lips, on the tiny indent his teeth left a moment ago. It would be so much simpler to go inside, to show Tyson how he feels rather than trying to sort through the mess of thoughts in his head. That’s what got them into this mess though, not actually talking about any of this.

“Okay,” JT says. “When we… The way this started, I thought it was just, like - it didn’t mean anything. Just hooking up, having fun, whatever. But then.” Tyson is watching him, his face unreadable. JT shakes his head, pushing himself through this disaster of a conversation. “What I’m trying to say is that I really like you, Tyson. Like, really, really like you. And I was an idiot about it, so I’m sorry about…” He waves his hand, searching for words. “The past couple weeks,” he finishes lamely. 

Tyson is quiet for a minute, his fingers tapping his thigh. He turns away, looks down the street then back at JT. “Prove it,” he says.

“What?” JT asks, not entirely sure what Tyson wants from him.

“Prove it,” Tyson repeats. “Race me. You, me, a quarter mile. Right here, right now.”

He shouldn’t be surprised - Tyson has been asking for this since they met. JT won’t deny him again. “Okay,” he says. “Not here, though, I’m not gonna run over some kid in your neighborhood.”

Tyson grins, huge and bright, a thousand reckless decisions in the curve of his lips. “Follow me,” he says, turning back to his car. 

JT follows him further away from the city, wondering where the hell he’s taking him. He can see Tyson’s smile every time he looks in the rearview to check JT is still behind him. They drive for almost an hour, the suburbs long behind them, out into the middle of nowhere. The sun is dipping towards the horizon when Tyson turns off the highway onto a two-lane road, takes another quick turn and passes a fence that at one point was probably meant to keep people out. He stops the car and JT pulls up next to him. 

They’re on what probably used to be the highway, back before the interstate was built. The road goes dead straight out to the horizon, two lanes to the end of the world. It’s a perfect drag strip out in middle-of-nowhere rural Colorado. 

“Those trees are just about a half mile,” Tyson says, pointing to a short bunch of trees off to the left of the road. It’s pretty much the only thing around. JT wonders how Tyson found this place, who brought him out here, what they were racing for. He pushes those thoughts away and looks back at Tyson.

“First one to pass the trees wins,” Tyson says. There’s no way JT will win this. He’s sitting here in the height of automotive technology from fifty years ago, next to a new supercar. It doesn’t matter how good of a driver he is when science aren’t on his side.

“Wins what?” JT asks. 

Tyson grins. “Anything,” he says. JT nods. That’s exactly what he’s prepared to give. “Count it,” Tyson says. Beyond his car, the sun glows a fiery red. When JT looks away spots dance across his vision.

“Three.”

The engine is warmed up from the drive out here. It rumbles low and constant, a heartbeat at idle. 

“Two.”

He shifts into first, eases off the clutch just a bit. Tyson revs his Porsche. JT doesn’t look at him; he’ll never make it off the line if he does.

“One.” 

His heart thuds heavily in time with the engine. Whatever’s at stake here, he’s willing to hand Tyson his heart at the finish line, let him do what he wants with it. With a jolt he realizes that’s how he’s felt ever since the night they met.

“Go.”

He beats Tyson off the line, just barely, the split-second advantage he had in counting them off. His world narrows to the wheel under his hands, the pedals on the floor, the engine roaring like waves pulling him out to sea. He shifts to second pretty quick and punches the gas. Tyson still hasn’t passed him and he wonders if he’s going to let him win. JT hesitates, a split second in the shift between second and third. That’s when Tyson pulls ahead in an unreal burst of speed. 

Tyson beats him to the finish, both of them coasting to a stop further down the road. He turns off his car and gets out before JT even sets the parking brake. His hands are shaking on the wheel and he can feel adrenaline rushing through his veins still. As he shuts off the Camaro’s engine, Tyson opens the door. JT doesn’t even get a chance to say anything, to congratulate him or ask him what he wants for winning - Tyson grabs his sleeve and pulls him to his feet, backs him up against his car and kisses him. 

It’s fast and desperate and all JT can do is react, hold on to Tyson as hard as he’s holding onto JT as the day melts into night around them. He slides his tongue along Tyson’s lips and hears him moan, swallows the sound. Tyson presses himself closer, making JT stumble backwards and bang his elbow against the car.

“Oops,” Tyson mumbles. “Sorry.” He takes JT’s hand and kisses the inside of his wrist softly in apology. JT pushes him back gently, shuts the door and backs him up against the hood, kissing the wicked grin on his lips. 

Tyson spreads his legs enough for JT to press his thigh between them, feels Tyson hard against him. He tilts his head back so JT can kiss down his neck as Tyson works his fingers under his jeans and pulls him closer. JT can’t help but rock against him, one hand falling to brace himself on the hood of his car. 

“Yes,” Tyson sighs, his breath hot on JT’s ear.

JT’s brain is barely functioning, his thoughts buried in static. “We can’t - I don’t -” 

“I do,” Tyson says. JT takes one shaky step back, then another, watches as Tyson goes to his Porsche and digs through the glove compartment. Tyson holds up a packet of lube and a condom, grinning. 

“Always be prepared,” he says, yanking at the tie still around his neck. The fabric slips through his fingers and he throws it through his open car door, followed by his suit jacket. He’s working his way down the buttons of his shirt when JT finally stops staring. 

JT bends his head and kisses Tyson’s chest, blindly reaching for the last few shirt buttons. Tyson shivers when he slides his shirt off his shoulders, either from the cold or from JT’s touch. Tyson brings his hands up JT’s back and drags his shirt up and over his head. He tangles his fingers in the short hair at the back of JT’s neck as JT brings their hips together again in a slow, dirty grind. 

JT brings his hand between them, undoes Tyson’s suit pants and palms him through his briefs. He pushes into JT’s hand, moans louder when JT slips his hand inside his underwear and gets his hand around Tyson’s dick. He strokes him a few times, until Tyson hooks his fingers in his waistband and pushes his pants down. He winks and drops the lube and condom in JT’s jeans pocket, fingers just brushing his dick as he does. Then he turns around and puts his hands on the hood of the Camaro, looking over his shoulder at JT. 

JT bites his lip and closes his eyes, and when he opens them again Tyson is still standing there, pants around his knees, looking half-wrecked already. It’s every fantasy JT’s ever had, infinitely better because this is real. 

“Are you sure?” JT asks, his voice hoarse.

Tyson raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, buddy,” he says with a little laugh. “Hurry up, it’s cold.”

JT works him open carefully, listening to every hitch in Tyson’s breath. He spends the whole time kissing Tyson’s neck and shoulders until they’re red with beard burn. 

“You gonna do this all night?” Tyson asks, his breath coming in short pants. “I got plans later.” JT pauses and Tyson pushes back on his fingers impatiently. “Almost all of them involve you and my bed,” he continues, fucking himself on JT’s fingers. JT wraps his arm around Tyson and starts stroking him, sucking in a gasp when Tyson arches back against him.

“No, not yet,” Tyson says. “Want you in me, come on.”

JT’s fingers are slick and shaking and he has to rip the foil packet with his teeth, eyes slipping shut as he rolls it on. He holds Tyson’s hips and pushes in, torturously slow, dropping his head on Tyson’s back, between his shoulder blades. He rocks his hips shallowly, buries himself deeper. He tries to keep his movements slow, wants to make this last when he feels like he’s already on the edge. 

“Touch me,” Tyson says, arching his back and starting to move with JT’s thrusts. JT does, takes him in hand again and moves his wrist in time with his hips. His other hand is still on Tyson’s hip, gripping hard enough to bruise. He’s breathing out these little moans every time JT pushes into him and JT can feel him leaking precome over his fingers. His rhythm stutters as he comes, shaking through it, hips still twitching weakly against Tyson’s ass. He keeps stroking Tyson until he comes, too, dripping over JT’s hand onto the hood of his car.

JT wishes he could see his face like this but settles for pressing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along his jaw. He pulls out slowly, strips off the condom and chucks it into the brush at the side of the road. Tyson pulls his pants back on and turns to JT, eyes bright and dazed. JT is sure he’s mirroring Tyson’s dumb smile back at him.

“Come back to my place?” Tyson asks, quiet.

“Of course,” JT says softly. 

Tyson steps in close and kisses the tip of JT’s nose, quick as a flash, before going back to his car. JT laughs. He picks his shirt up from where Tyson dropped it and hurriedly wipes off his car, throwing it in the backseat. He spends way more time cleaning cars since he met Tyson, but he can’t say he really minds. 

He smiles the whole way back to Tyson’s place, sure that Tyson is grinning, too. 

They sneak in the house, giggling so loudly there’s no way Kerf doesn’t hear them. Later, they’re curled up in Tyson’s bed, JT’s arms around Tyson and Tyson’s head on his chest. Tyson finds JT’s hand and tangles their fingers together.

“Just so we’re clear,” he says, “I really like you, too. A lot.” He turns so he can see JT’s face. “I thought that was obvious, but I guess not, so now I’m telling you: I’m crazy about you, Jimothy Timothy.”

JT grins. He’s pretty sure Tyson can feel his heart beating, has to know the effect he has on JT. “Joseph Taylor,” he corrects.

Tyson ducks his head but JT doesn’t miss his smile. “Will you date me, Joseph Taylor?”

JT pretends to think about it, tapping his finger against his chin. Tyson pinches his side. “What are you doing tomorrow night?” he asks.

“Having dinner with my boyfriend,” Tyson says hopefully.

“What a coincidence,” JT says. “So am I.”

**Author's Note:**

> a few fun facts I couldn't fit into this fic: Josty and Kerf work at a tech startup - Kerf does the coding and Josty does the marketing. It may or may not be a scooter sharing app in Denver they're hoping to market to other cities.  
> There was a version of this fic where Tyson shows up at the shop with his Porsche in the first scene and then comes back with some very rare, barely running classic car (idk a porsche 356 or an alfa giulietta spider or something) that he wants jt to help him restore.   
> Josty plays beer league lacrosse, he and Kerf both play beer league hockey and they're gonna get JT to join the team.
> 
> There's a third and final fic in this au - it's nate/ej. I have it started but I can make no promises about when it'll be done.
> 
> come say hi on [tumblr](http://segwins.tumblr.com)


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